Peter Pettigrew vs The Afterlife
by gacrux11
Summary: Some people go places after they die. You know the ones, the nice places, or terrible places to get whatever they deserve. Everyone goes somewhere, but Peter doesn't really go anywhere at all.


prospective titles included Peter Pettigrew and the Worst Thing Since Voldemort, or Peter Petigrew Goes to Hell (But Not Really)

* * *

So here he is.

One mistake, one slip up, one brief and momentary hesitation, and all that he gave up was for nothing. James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, his own dignity as a human being – this is what it has amounted to. Sitting on his arse in the middle of the Potters' old family cottage. The place where his mounting betrayal really showed up for the party. The one God forsaken place he hoped he would never have to see again in his life.

Granted, he's not exactly alive anymore. James's crafty little wisp of a son had seen right to that.

He's not even sure how long he's been sitting around in the empty cottage, the whole place glowing slightly green in the evening for some reason. Perhaps reminiscent of the killing curse used on one of his best friends and his wife, and then attempted on an innocent child.

Ah yes, that's probably why he's here. You can only get away with so many betrayals before they catch up to you. At least he knows that much.

Beyond that, he knows he's gone back to being a stout little boy in Gryffindor rags. Perhaps the Afterlife, here, wherever he is, in all its infinite wisdom, has decided this is the form that suits him best. He's back in the body of a boy he once was, naive and selfish and hopeless to do anything but fit in. He only ever wanted to survive, to skirt by on the coattails of his betters. Given that, he's rather surprised he's not a rat in all honesty. He's more surprised that he's not wherever the Dark Lord and Bellatrix, that great wench, have gone. He figured he'd be eating his fair share of just desserts by this point, right next to his other fallen 'comrades'. Speaking of, he's not sure how he knows they're dead. He just... feels it. Like sticking his hand under a spray of boiling water, that's how obvious it feels. It's not a suspicion or an intuition, it just is. It is as clear to him as the fact that he's here, lingering in places he never wanted to.

Being dead really seems to have enlightened him about his misdeeds. He thinks mostly it has just given him a new perspective. Well, that and the fact he no longer has anyone to grovel to but himself, and that just makes him realize how truly pathetic he managed to get over the years. He feels no regret for his actions, but he's come to recognize how traitorous and truly rat-like he grew to be. Too late to care though, so he concerns himself with other things.

Well, he tries.

Trapped here in the cottage his best friend was murdered in, he's had a lot of time to think. He's not terribly bright sometimes, but he knows when he won't be able to weasel his way out of an unfavourable situation. This happens to be one of those times. He thought his last showdown with Sirius and Remus in the Shrieking Shack would be one of those times too, until bloody merciful Harry Potter stepped in. Elongated his life by a handful of days, and then ended up helping Peter to murder himself.

It's all hilariously ironic when he thinks about it, and he has had enormous amounts of time to do just that.

This is his punishment though, being stuck in limbo or purgatory or what have you, and he's got no other option anymore but to accept it. He's gotten good at that over the years too, lying down and accepting his fate like a rat resigned to death in the jaws of a boa constrictor. Honestly, it won't be so bad. He's been at it for a while and while he's bored as hell and has now cross-examined every possible angle of every mistake he's ever made in his lamentably short life, he's still himself.

Alone for the rest of eternity by his own makings.

So when Dumbledore fades in through the door one day, the very same door Peter tried for ages to open to no avail, he's appropriately shocked.

"Ah, Peter, I've been looking for you." He says, eyes twinkling mischievously like they always had in life.

He's stunned into silence for a solid minute, tilting his head this way and that and trying to discern whether or not this is part of the punishment.

"Have I finally lost it?" He wonders aloud.

"No, no, my boy, not at all." The former Headmaster of Hogwarts procures a candy packaged in yellow and offers it to him.

"I always hated lemon drops." Peter informs Dumbledore rather dully.

With a smile that clearly says, 'I'm well aware,' the Headmaster hides it back up his sleeve to save for later. Who knows when he might need to offer another mangled and wayward soul a lemon drop to cheer them up, after all. Peter would imagine it happens quite frequently, given the state of the world outside when he last saw it. People dropping like flies left and right, among some being his ex-best friends and their significant others.

Oh, he's absolutely positive they would kill him twice if they ever saw him here.

Dumbledore glances about, taking in the ruined tapestry and worn resilience of the Potters' cottage. He has this pointed look in his eye, one that speaks of vague disappointment and composed sympathy. It reminds him of his days in Gryffindor picking on Snape and the way Dumbledore looked at him when he admitted he 'just went along with it' for the sake of his friendship, his safety, with James and Sirius.

"I don't regret it." Peter tells him barefacedly. He's got nothing to hide anymore and he's not sure why his old Headmaster is here, but he figures it can't be any kind of good. He betrayed Dumbledore when he betrayed James and Lily after all, and he's not naive enough to expect pardon for his crimes, neither does he want it. He doesn't regret selling out his friends to the Dark Lord. It's not in heart to feel regret for saving his own skin.

"I would be surprised if you did," Dumbledore tells him honestly.

Silence settles over them like fresh snow upon dead grass. He should find it disconcerting, he's never known Dumbledore to be silent when he's clearly got something to say, but he doesn't. He doesn't really feel very much. The robes itch vaguely as they always did, and they are heavy and stifling, red and gold, draped over him like a lead blanket. He hates the robes like he always did, but he wore them because they granted him unlimited access to the friendly, safe faces he met in Gryffindor.

Peter sighs and then words start falling out of his mouth before he can snap his teeth around them.

"Did you know, sir, that I was never meant to be in Gryffindor?"

"The thought may have crossed my mind." Dumbledore pauses, a flicker of consideration passing in his eyes. "You did take a rather long time to be sorted."

"The hat kept muttering, 'Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin' over and over again. I kept whispering, 'No, no, no, no!' until it stopped altogether. It wanted my reasoning, why I didn't want to be Slytherin. It asked me, 'why not? You are ever so Slytherin, boy!' and I told it I wouldn't survive in Slytherin. Not with people like Bellatrix and Narcissa and that Malfoy around." Peter swallows, shakes his head, decides not to continue. Silence engulfs the cottage like a coiling silver hand.

Then Dumbledore asks him, "Why wouldn't you survive in Slytherin?"

Peter is fairly certain the Headmaster is humouring him now, because surely Dumbledore knows why he would have withered in a house full of shrewd, conniving, darkly inclined teenagers. He would have been turned into the house punching bag, quite literally. He'd heard horror stories from Slytherin's older days, and he had no desire to test their validity.

So he stares blankly ahead and says, "I'm not very strong, sir. Not in a matter of will or in any other way. I'm skilled with the Dark Arts in ways James and Sirius and Remus could never be, but I can't really hold my own. I do best in a group. I knew that. Imagine me trailing after a group of elitist Slytherin brats. I'd be hexed six ways to Sunday, sir, and with all due respect I'm sure you can understand that Gryffindor was a more appropriate house for me to set my sights on."

Dumbledore appears neither surprised nor appeased.

"Always so clever, but so unwilling to use that wit." He chides, raising a drooping eyebrow in Peter's direction. "Or perhaps, unwilling to use it for anyone other than yourself."

Peter shakes his head decisively, "If you're hear to guilt-trip me, you might as well leave. Slimy little rat-faced traitor, remember? I put my lot in with the highest bidder and ended up losing fair and square." Dumbledore observes in thoughtful silence. Peter ploughs on dutifully. "I don't regret what I did in my life. Except maybe letting the Potters' brat get the best of me. The kid is a stroke luckier than James ever was, that's for sure. Spitting image of him, too. Stupidly high expectations of the good in people to boot, but not as naive as James ever was."

He realizes he's smiling wistfully and quickly drops the expression.

"I must admit I'm not sure you're as free of regret as you say you are, Mr. Pettigrew." Dumbledore informs him.

"And why is that," Peter asks, if only to indulge an old man that he could remember looking up to and respecting as one of the greatest wizards of all time once.

"Yes, well, most concerning would be the fact that you've subconsciously locked yourself in purgatory." The old Headmaster glances between the dirty, half-shattered windows. "Terribly morbid one at that."

Peter blinks. He considers it. Then he denies it violently in his head.

"I've done no such thing." He retorts, because that can't be right. He'd had no choice coming here. If he'd had one, if he'd had the choice even faintly, he would be _anywhere _but here. Anywhere. He would rather be dining with Bellatrix than locked in James and Lily's tomb for the rest of his afterlife, which is what it's shaping up to be really. The longest pity-party known to spirits, he imagines.

Dumbledore's eyes soften briefly, and Peter is confused by the pity.

"Peter, souls cannot be held in purgatory by any higher power or spirit." The old Headmaster's eyes are gentle but firm. "They are held back from moving on due to regrets and lamentations. The soul is tethered to the mortal world by such ties, and is bound to this crossover world until matters are absolved."

"But I have no regrets!" He tries, weaker now. He always gave in too easy.

"A ridiculous notion, Peter, and one you would be well to do away with. I recognize the symptoms of regret when I see them, and I know you've had second thoughts about betraying your friends since you did." Dumbledore informs him factually.

"Don't make me out to be so noble, if anything I only regret throwing in my lot with the wrong group." Peter's eyes are downcast and it takes away from his graveness, so he adds, "I thought the Dark Lord would win. That's the only reason I swapped sides."

Dumbledore looks partially amused when he says, "Yet that is still one of your regrets."

Suddenly very tired, Peter sinks deeper into the sole wicker chair in the room, one he recognizes as a balcony lounger that Lily used to curl up in to watch the sunset from, and he sighs. His head bumps the back of the chair and his eyes focus on the cracks in the ceiling. They bleed white light, contrary to the dusky sky glaring at him through the windows. He stays frozen like that, staring at the light with a wistful glow, for an indecipherable amount of time.

Dumbledore finally chooses to break the silence and says with an air of ambiguity, "Life is full of choices, Peter. I once knew a boy who made all the wrong ones, but he always had a chance to go back and fix them. Everyone is offered that chance, whenever they dare to take it."

Outside, the dusk eats the moon from the sky. Stars litter the black blanket, draped over the strange scape of land that isn't quite home.

"It's too late." Peter mumbles, verging on inaudible. Somehow, though, he is heard.

Equally quiet, Dumbledore tells him, "It is never too late."

And then he is gone.

In the silence and curious repose that Dumbledore has left behind, Peter contemplates the fine, susurrant and hopeful words that had been imparted upon him. He has never believed in happy endings or fairy tales, so the idea that a person as self-serving as himself could earn forgiveness, or change his ways, is all too sweet a sentiment. It is too good to be true, so Peter thinks he'll disregard it.

Then the light above catches his eyes, glares at him pointedly through the winding slivers above, and he sighs heavily.

"Yes, alright? Yes, I would go back. I'd – I'd try to fix things. I'd want to. I can't though, so just stop bothering me!" He snaps at the light, so bright and infallible, like a sun that never sets even here in the dark.

"Oh, are we bothering you, Pete?" It's a familiar voice, familiar but strange, and he whips around to face James Potter in all his dead, bespectacled glory. He looks like he did in his seventh year of Hogwarts, perhaps a little older, and he's smirking. Sneering, perhaps? The emotion is hard to place.

"Yeah, we'd hate to interrupt your brooding." Says Sirius, sarcastic as ever where he stands a few feet to James's right. Remus is there too, but as he always was when James and Sirius went off to tease someone, he is a silent sentinel, judging but never interfering and bowing out to his own insecurities.

"Great spot you've picked here," James traipses forward and circles around, running his fingers along the wall with a curious expression. "Must be pretty familiar, huh? Given that you killed me and Lily here and all. Attempted to kill my son, too. Was hilariously ironic, the way you died, eh?" He laughs. Peter shrugs.

"Didn't pick it." Peter informs them.

"Liar." Sirius says with an edge, with a fury that is not terribly unfounded given Peter's actions in the past. Black was always the one to jump on enemies, snarl at them and mock them down to incoherence, more wolfish and predatory than Remus has ever had the need to be. James always used to observe when Sirius got particularly mean-spirited, laughing if he thought it was funny and pulling him back when he thought he'd gone too far. Sirius was and is like a guard dog on a leash, and James isn't tugging him back anymore. He wants to see Peter get hurt.

Peter shrugs.

Then he says, "I can't make you believe me."

James stays conspicuously silent, and Sirius eyes him contemptuously. Remus, meanwhile, tilts his head, oozing a weird combination of paternal disappointment and condescension. It's like he's back in Hogwarts again and he's done something particularly thoughtless - which he didn't often do, for the record - and now he's facing the music.

It's weird and familiar and he's not sure how to deal with the combination of fear and familiarity.

The silence erodes his indifference like acid through steel so he licks his lips and tries again, "You guys know me well enough to know that I wouldn't put myself in a situation I'd... suffer in..." He trails off at the mix of freezing, angry glares he receives in response. Well, he supposes he really stepped in it that time. Might as well have put a target on his back with homing beacons on the arrows he's about to have shot at him.

"You lowlife, traitorous, piece of _shit_-" Sirius hisses, not quite holding himself back from raising a fist.

"Well," Remus interrupts quietly, pointedly, "At least he's being honest now."

Ah, yes, now that he's reminded of it, Remus' barbs were always timed for maximum destructive capacity. Peter is amused despite himself and snickers, very quietly under his breath. He's always respected an intelligent, well-timed insult or two. It really divides the clever people from the well-developed apes.

"Finally gone off the deep end, Wormtail?" Sirius reels back around to face him, having heard him laugh, and pins him with a glacial stare.

"Don't call me that." Peter mutters automatically, and then stiffens.

"What's that? Don't call you 'Wormtail'?" James looks thoughtful and annoyed, a terrible combination on a Potter. "Why the hell not? Does it remind you that we used to be _friends, _Wormtail? Does it make you remember that you betrayed _friends _and not a handful of randoms that meant nothing to you?"

Yeah, right, because he could ever forget that James and Lily, and Remus and Sirius were his friends.

"Shut up, James-"

Sirius grabs him by the throat, "Don't you dare tell him to shut up after what you did, you miserable little rat!"

"Yeah, exactly, I'm a rat." Peter mutters, leaning back into the chair and as far away as he can from Sirius. "What did you expect from a rat? Why'd you trust me with the secret, James? Why not Remus? Why not Sirius? Even Dumbledore offered, but you had to go and pick the _rat _didn't you?"

James goes from shocked to furious over the course of a blink and glowers at him.

"What did I _expect?_" James spits the word out with particular vehemence. "Expect, Wormtail? I 'expected' you to be a friend, the friend you said you were, and I 'expected' you to keep our damned secret safe! I didn't expect much from you, I _asked_ for less, but you buggered it all up anyway, didn't you?"

Peter shakes his head. "God, you all forgot who I was. When in Hogwarts was I ever dependable? When did you rely on me with your precious secrets in Hogwarts? We joked and played pranks on people and became Animagus, but you never really trusted me back then! Why did you trust me a few years afterwards? What made you decide I was a rat worth your trust?" He stares away from everyone, still marginally uncomfortable in their presence after all these years.

"Yeah, I wonder. Wonder why I had it in my head that trusting one of my best friends was a good idea. Who'd of thought, right?" James mutters sarcastically. "I mean, you were the one spouting all those lies about Sirius and Remus, so you tell me, yeah?"

Peter balks, remembering that yes, he had slanted James and Lily's opinions of Remus and Sirius that last year. He admits it isn't one of his better moments.

But James never believed him in Hogwarts when he ranted about Remus and Sirius, about things they did or how they shunned him sometimes. He didn't get to complain about them, not a single bad word could be said against them, and so the fact James 'believed' Peter's slants on them is bullshit.

It's bullshit and it makes him so _angry _and for once in his life, or lack thereof, he wants to be right_._

"Why did you believe me? How? I _always _played second fiddle to Sirius back in Hogwarts, and Remus was always more trustworthy. Then you deign to start trusting me the very moment I misconstrue the truth of the situation? You trust me when I start planting seeds in your head about Remus and Sirius, but not when I genuinely wanted to help you?! You must be joking!" He spits, mutters really, bristling with unease. What do they even want from him? "Why are you even here? What do you want? Do you want me to apologize for what I did? Feel sorry for you and how your stupid lives ended because of your own misguided judgement?!"

He heaves a breath.

"Well, fuck you! All of you! I'm sorry! I'm _sorry!_ I never wanted to betray you, any of you, and it wasn't a conscious decision! It just... happened. Like me choking myself to death because I couldn't kill your fucking spawn, James! I never planned it, I never really wanted it, and fuck you all, if I could take it back I would! But I can't, I can't! So just get out of here." He collapses in on himself a little, feeling younger than the memories of being eleven, meeting James, and Sirius, and Remus and feeling like he wasn't 'cool' enough to hang out with them. He feels belittled and misunderstood like he never has before, really, because no one's opinion touched him. Only James-Remus-Sirius mattered, and they always took care of him like a younger sibling. Everyone else? Well, fuck everyone else. But now...

Now it's their steel-cold eyes that bother him, perturb him, get under his skin. Their opinion was the only one that ever mattered, and it looks like it still does whether he wants it that way or not.

"How am I supposed to believe that?" James asks drily, but when Peter looks up he appears unsettled. Perhaps it was Peter's inadvertent sincerity, because like everything else, that just 'happened' too. He knows he's shit, that's what he meant to say, and God damn it he is sorry.

So, for the sake of both their sanity, Peter informs him, "You don't. You never will. Now, goodbye."

With that, he expects them to slink away into the light without so much as a backwards glance. He expects them to leave him to suffer for eternity like he would leave himself, because he has in some ways been humbled by this weird, terrifyingly stomach-churning meeting.

Footsteps, and then silence. He doesn't look up, he just stares at the ground.

"Why didn't you kill my son." The question falls flat, and Peter nearly starts when he realizes James is standing in front of him again. "Why didn't you kill Harry."

For the sake of humouring him, Peter gives it some thought. He doesn't have to think all that long though, because he already knows the answer deep down. It's a little gritty, like sand in his teeth, but he's going to put it out there anyway.

"For half a second it was you." He sighs, blinking tiredly. His eyelids seem to rake across his eyes, dry and scratchy. "For half a second, I hesitated because I was killing you again, James." And now he does let his eyes slide shut, exhausted and annoyed. He didn't want to confess that weakness again, but it's too late now. He kisses his dignity goodbye, although he supposes he lost it when he grovelled at Voldemort's scaly feet.

It's a long time before anything more is said, and Peter thinks perhaps they've gone. When he looks up, however, James is staring down at him hard with a look of sincerity.

He says, "I forgive you."

And that's it. Like a weight has been thrown from his shoulders, he stands up and stares widely.

"You... what?" He couldn't have heard that right. No way. James would never forgive him for this. Never.

"Alright, melodrama is finished, time to go, idiots." It's a feminine voice and God damn it, it's Lily.

"What the h-"

"Shut it, Peter," Lily instructs him before he can get his sentence through. "I forgive you, too. I forgave you first, to be precise, because this bonehead is an idiot and has no empathy whatsoever, I swear. It's his pride. Blocks all other emotional capacities." She smiles cheekily, and then _why is everything suddenly right with the world? _He can't remember much about Lily, to be honest. He tried to block it all out because he felt the worst about her. She died protecting Harry. He put that into play, and she died protecting her son. That always felt too heavy for him, but now the burden is gone.

There's a door across from them and before he can speak, they're heading towards it. He glances around and Remus half-smiles, maybe forgiveness, and Sirius wraps an arm around Remus' shoulders. He is less friendly but he isn't taking shots at Peter anymore, so he takes what he can get graciously. James has an arm wrapped around Lily's waist, and Lily ushers Peter forwards.

"This is your doing, isn't it." It's a statement because it is, he knows it. She smirks and rounds on him, shaking off James' clinging arms.

"They would've gotten to forgiving you eventually, I just helped the process along." She explains with a flick of her wildfire red hair. "Besides, everyone needs a little push in the right direction sometimes."

And then she pushes him through the door, and Peter realizes that everything is going to be just fine and weird and exactly how it should be.

* * *

A/N: so I really hesitated in posting this because I wasn't sure if I had characterized Peter to the best of my ability because he's supposed to be self-serving above all but also penitent and still that silly little boy who followed the cool kids around, you know? Let me know how you think I did. HP fic is hard for me.


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